Muskrat Ramble
by loned
Summary: "My sister will enjoy your lovely wrists. And I will untie that pretty little bow round your neck." Klaus/Bonnie. Set at the end of the 1920s.
1. A Night At El Fey

_One: A Night At El Fey_

* * *

"Bennett! Your break's over! Stop daydreaming and get those skinny _patas_ back upstairs!"

Bonnie looked up from her book with a sigh.

"Just two more minutes, Jimmy. Gotta finish this paragraph."

The man who had rudely pulled her out of her reveries now stood over her shoulder and snatched her book from her grasp.

"Hey!"

"Huh, _The Blacker the Berry_. Are you reading smut on my watch?"

Bonnie rolled her eyes.

"It's a novel."

Jimmy grinned. "What's it about?"

Bonnie put on her pumps and tied their laces, preparing for another feet-killing shift.

"It's about this girl who…has to accept herself."

She didn't go any further. Jimmy may have been Puerto Rican (his real name masterfully erased), but he still considered himself two or three steps above "Negros". If she went on to tell him that the novel was about accepting your dark skin, he'd call her a radical and maybe even consider talking to the boss about lowering her wage.

She tucked the novel back in her purse, under the counter and went to refresh her lipstick in the staff room, which was just a cupboard with a mirror.

She turned on the dangling light bulb overhead and was accosted by her own pale image. She had not slept well the night before. Or the night before that. She was cramming textbooks by streetlight, memorizing dates and numbers as she helped old Cara Sedwick, the unemployed widow on the block, feed her kids, solving algebra equations in her head while she helped Grams at the market.

"One day, I'll hear my Bonnie's been run over by the tram and I'll be comfortable knowin' she was reciting Shakespeare in her head," her grandmother would joke to her friends.

Day in, day out, Bonnie Bennett was studying for her college admission. All her free time outside the bar was spent at the Schomburg Center. That was where she'd gotten _The Blacker the Berry_.

She was determined to be the girl on East 130th Central Harlem who would go to a women's college. She was applying to Wells College in Aurora, the Scotia Seminary in North Carolina and Oberlin in Ohio. One of these was bound to accept her.

But she had to be sharp and better than most of her peers to get a full scholarship, so while she powdered her cheeks in the mirror, lined her eyes and rouged her lips, she also started enumerating the major ramifications of the Hamilton financial system of the 1780s.

Two bejeweled hands caught her by the waist and tickled her ribs.

"Whatcha doing, Bon?"

The stocky blonde behind her gave her a brilliant grin. She was oiling her bob, puffing it up so it looked bigger.

"That trick's not gonna work, Care."

"Oh, shush. It's a quiet night tonight, anyway. So, studying up again?"

"You bet. I think I'm going nuts."

"Remember my offer? It still stands. I could _easily_ set you up with one of my fellas, and you wouldn't need so much education. I mean…it's swell and everything, but a girl needs a rest. And you really do. I've got just the right banker."

Bonnie smiled. "Thanks. One day I'll take you up on that offer."

Caroline was always joking like that. She still worked as a waitress, but claimed she could give it up at the drop of a hat, if she ever felt like it. She was one of those happy spirits who chose to believe hard work was just a hobby. She was sure several men would open their pockets if she ever got into _real_ trouble.

Bonnie knew very well few of her "fellas" would keep a black mistress, and those who did, did not treat them very well. But wasn't it nice to think that one day someone would walk into that sordid bar, a man with great intellect, great tolerance, great wisdom, and he would tell her that it was all right, after all, if she went home with him, because he wouldn't treat her like an exotic bird?

But even such men, when you got a closer look, were compensating for something, wanted to feel less guilty for spending the night in front of a drink.

Caroline tightened Bonnie's corset and slipped a dollar between her breasts.

"Here. I made that Rio Rita joke you told me and it got me a tip. I'm giving you half."

"Such generosity," she quipped.

"That's all you'll get from me in a while. My cousin from Baltimore is coming to stay with me and she's all broke. I gotta help her out, Ma's orders."

Bonnie helped Caroline fix her blue peacock shawl on her shoulders and tapped her cheeks lightly to get the blood running.

"If I get evicted, can I live with you at college? I'll carry your books."

"Funny," Bonnie murmured, smiling softly.

"I'm not even joking. Anyway, you should wear your red bow tie tonight."

"Is there a special occasion?"

"Well, no, but if they raid us tonight, you can pretend you're a Ziegfeld girl or something."

Bonnie ushered her out of the cupboard and they both climbed up the stairs to join the rest of the girls in the club. The guests were going to arrive soon.

* * *

"Well, seems the best looking girls are hiding behind the bar. Now how is that fair?"

Caroline bent her head and winked at the terrifyingly handsome young man in front of her. His jaw was strong and he wore a white tux like no other. This was no small compliment, because she liked to believe she was not easily impressed. He seemed to want to talk to her and he smelled nice too; he wore expensive cologne, not the cheap kind that made her tear up.

"Ah, sweetheart, could you get another glass for my good friend, Nik?"

He pointed out a table in the back where a serious-looking business type and a bored blonde were eyeing the crowd with condescension. Caroline bit her lip. She would've rather stayed here at the bar with this mysterious stranger.

"How about you? Aren't _you_ thirsty?" she asked, tongue-in-cheek.

He paused, his eyes lingering on her figure in a way that made her stomach flutter. He seemed to want to drink _her_.

"What's your name?"

"Caroline."

"Lovely. How did you read my mind, Caroline?"

"I guess I have a talent. Let me guess, Bourbon?"

The young man grinned. "I'm impressed. Would it be against the custom if I kissed your hand?"

"Only if you stopped there," she flirted, blushing. Usually, she liked to tease and keep the guy guessing, but he was dazzling her and she found she was being more honest than usual.

"Well, you're quite something," he murmured and his fingers suddenly tipped her chin up, sending a strange shock throughout her body. He looked into her eyes. Caroline felt elated. A strange compulsion made her want to sit next to him all night long. It was those hazel eyes which seemed to delve into her own and reduce her will to nothing.

It was time to send out a signal to Bonnie.

She took out a small pocket mirror and aimed it in the direction of her friend, who was serving a table nearby.

Bonnie recognized the small, regular flashes coming from the bar. Caroline was talking to her in Morse Code again.

_Talking to swell guy. Help with drink? Guy in back near chandelier. _

Bonnie threw her a look.

Caroline puckered her lips and blew her cheeks like a character in a sentimental tramp movie, a display she knew her friend would find hard to resist.

Bonnie nodded reluctantly.

She filled her tray with flutes of champagne and meandered her way to the couple in the back.

"Welcome to El Fey, sugars. How may I serve you, tonight? Glass of bubbly champagne?" she recited with a put-on smile, batting her eyelashes. The black girls were supposed to affect an accent too. She had decided on a mixture of German and Yiddish. The latter she had learned from Mrs. Sedwick.

The beautiful blonde raised her eyes and surveyed her critically.

Her eyes darted quickly behind her towards the bar. Bonnie had a feeling she was watching Caroline and her mysterious stranger. She did not seem pleased.

Her companion, a strange-looking man with sharp cheekbones, raised his fingers for a flute.

Bonnie bowed down until the tray was at the level of his hand.

He eyed her neck for a moment before taking a glass.

She had worn the bow tie, after all. Her throat looked like a Christmas present.

"Nik, she's not wearing any gloves," the blonde spoke up in a thick British accent.

It was then that Bonnie realized she had indeed forgotten her gloves in the cupboard. Jimmy would have berated her for her "indecorous manners", but she thought little of it. The guests, however, were the masters.

"Beg pardon, Madam," she replied, her accent slipping, "it won't happen again."

The blonde smiled a rather cold smile. "No, no, it's quite all right. Easier access."

Bonnie could not decipher the meaning of her words. She was momentarily confounded.

"Now, Rebekah. Show some self-control," the man spoke in a kindred British accent, all the while eyeing Bonnie's bow tie.

Bonnie had dealt with "eccentric" individuals before. They never seemed to give Caroline as many problems as they gave her.

She smiled a sweet smile and asked, in a honeyed voice,

"Shall I get you some cigars?"

"Thank you, love, but I will have to pass. Now, why don't you sit down? I'm sure you're tired," the man replied, patting his hand on the seat between him and his companion.

"Thanks kindly, but I'm as jittery as a junebug and have to get back to work," she replied in the stilted manner of someone who had had to learn these lines.

"Work can wait, surely. We will tip you extra," he continued, undeterred.

The policy of the speakeasy was you had to do what the customer told you, especially if you were a black girl with "arrogant aspirations", as Jimmy had coined it.

She had been fondled and groped before, but the couple before her looked a cut above such activities.

She hovered around them undecidedly.

"I can't sit down, I'm afraid, but maybe the Madam wants a glass of champagne?"

The blonde trailed a sharp nail on the small ornate table in front of her.

"What I _want_ is for Stefan to return. But, since he is occupied at the bar, you will have to do. Now _sit_ down."

She looked straight into Bonnie's eyes with a fierce, almost commanding gaze.

_Okay, she's loony_, Bonnie thought, stepping back.

"Why don't I get you a gimlet? All the girls love it. It's got gin, a spot of lime and soda."

The blonde sighed tiredly.

"I'm out of practice, Nik. You compel her. I'm bored."

The copper-haired man leaned forward and smiled a rather devious smile. She could not pinpoint what was so strange about it. After all, many men leered at her on a daily basis, but there was something hollow and _wrong_ about his smile.

"What's wrong, love? Nervous? There is no need. We just want a bit fun. Why don't you join us?"

His pupils shrank and dilated in the same moment. Bonnie watched with morbid fascination. Whoever these two were, they certainly did not belong here.

He offered his hand.

"My sister will enjoy your lovely wrists. And I will untie that pretty little bow round your neck."

Bonnie gasped, repelled by his insinuations.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but this is _not_ that kind of establishment, _Sir_. You will find a brothel just round the street. No need to tip me," Bonnie said in her normal voice, turning around with a shiver of something between fear and disgust.

She could feel their gaze on her back, but she kept on walking calmly towards the bar, even though her heart was hammering in her chest. There was no doubt they would talk to the manager about her "impolite conduct". It had happened before. She had not been fired then, but now?

She was almost tempted to run back and beg them not to complain, but Grams had told her that once you lost your self-pride, you lost everything.

* * *

"Good God, Nik. Are you getting _old_?"

Niklaus swatted her hand away from his shoulder. She grinned with ferocity. Rebekah so enjoyed making fun of him.

"Don't act like you did any better," he retorted.

"I can't believe you couldn't do it! It's the first time in – what? – a hundred years?"

"Tread carefully, sister. I'm not in the mood to be provoked," he replied, eyeing the room with renewed dark interest. The little minx, whoever she was, had disappeared, along with her red bow tie.

"Do you think she'll tell on us?" Rebekah giggled spitefully, leaning back into her seat.

"I'd cease this display, Bekah. It's no laughing matter. The girl managed to walk away from two Originals."

"I know, and that's what I find hilarious. I don't suppose this bar stocks on vervain."

Nik scowled. "Vervain or not, she should have been unable to fight the compulsion."

His sister inspected her fingers indifferently.

"Where _is_ Stefan, anyway?"

"He is probably feeding on some unsuspecting escort, but he's hardly our problem now."

"Do you think he went after that vapid bint at the bar? Oooh, maybe he's found the bowtie and is feasting on her already."

For some obscure reason, the suggestion angered him to a surprising degree and he threw his sister a withering glare.

"He had better _not_."

"Lord, Nik, you're already besotted with her. You and Stefan always fall for some poor kitchen mouse and then I have to sit alone _all night_ _long_."

"For once, stop thinking _only_ of yourself."

"Right, I must always care about _your_ feelings first. Well, go after her then. I know you want to. If you end up killing her, save me a glass. She looked rather delicious," Rebekah commented wistfully.

* * *

Bonnie massaged her weary ankles. The night was still young, but her toes were already protesting. Her break would soon be over and so far, no angry Jimmy had barged down the stairs, shouting abuse.

_But soon…_

She felt a shiver every time she remembered the way those two had looked at her, like she was only a piece of meat. The man's gaze, in particular, had startled her. It seemed to speak of eerie depths and bottomless pits. New York was full of such dreamlike creatures, rich, glassy-eyed, indifferent, but utterly fascinating in their Otherness.

She heard footsteps down the stairs.

_Oh, God. Here it comes. _

The click of heels on wood. It was only Meredith, dressed in her usual dancing costume. She was adamant about reminding people she had once been a trained dancer.

"Bonnie, have you seen Caroline? I'm swamped up there and I can't find her anywhere."

"Maybe she went out for a smoke?" Bonnie suggested. Come to think of it, when she had walked away from the nefarious couple, her friend was no longer at the bar. It had been some time since then.

"I checked outside. I checked the bathrooms. I even checked the cellar. Thought she might've grabbed a drink. She's no show."

Bonnie rose from her chair, wobbling on her swollen feet.

"I think she left with a guy," Meredith suggested with some rancor.

"She wouldn't do that during a shift."

"Well, she was flirting a mighty _lot_ with this fella who looked a bit too cut, if you know what I mean."

Bonnie frowned. She remembered the man who had impressed Caroline enough to make her use her mirror. He did not strike her as particularly dangerous, but then again, appearances deceived.

"You don't think…he did something to her?"

"Ha. No. Caroline probably left willingly."

Bonnie shook her head. "Doesn't sound like her." Her friend let unknown men walk her home and buy her flowers, but she was not in the habit of taking off with a stranger. At least not until she talked about it with Bonnie.

"Once in a while, a girl gets crazy about some guy and you can't do anything about it," was Meredith's wise reply.

Bonnie suddenly remembered something. The strange guests had mentioned the man at the bar. The blonde had been looking at Caroline with displeasure, perhaps jealousy? Could they possibly know him, then? In fact, hadn't she also said a name?

_Stefan._

Bonnie felt cold. If he was part of their entourage, she had many reasons to get worried. The two had not "enjoyed" her, but all three might "enjoy" Caroline. Or worse, they might harm her.

"I – I'll try to find her," she said, running back up with her heart in her throat.

* * *

The couple was no longer seated at their table. And Caroline's mysterious beau had also disappeared. The sensible thing would have been to tell Jimmy right away, since he took care of such incidents, but she feared he would take issue with Caroline and believe the girl had left of her own accord. She went up to the Mexican doormen who were always polite to her.

"Guys, I need help. I think Caroline's in trouble. She's missing."

She went on to tell them about the three eccentrics and their unsavory intentions.

"Ay, _chulada_, there's one problem. She didn't go through these doors. We would've noticed, lo sabes?"

"What about those three?"

"_Que no_, we didn't see them. I can send Julio to check outside, if you like. But we can't make a big fuss. We don't want any noise. You understand."

She understood all too well. If people dressed in formal wear were seen coming out of what was supposed to be an innocuous warehouse, they would get in trouble.

"Please, I'd be very grateful."

"We'll handle it."

But she couldn't very well sit and wait, nor could she go on serving drinks. At the risk of angering both Meredith and Jimmy, she grabbed her coat and went outside to look for her.

* * *

_Goddamn shoes_.

Bonnie felt as if her soles were on fire, as if every step was like walking on hot coals. She ducked in and out of alleys. Julio was running up and down the street, shouting Caroline's name.

Bonnie exhaled and steam rolled out of her mouth like wisps of smoke. A cold February chill was running down her spine and through her thin coat.

"Caroline!"

She was scared, but she did not want to imagine what she should be scared for. Caroline was a strong girl. She had punched Jimmy in the stomach once and he had gotten so red, he had to leave the room. But could she overpower three people?

"Any luck, Julio?" she called out, watching a feral cat jump up the brick wall and into an apartment window.

"Julio?"

The street was empty, save for her.

"Julio, where are you?"

She walked towards a blinking street lamp. Had he gone too far?

She could see a black mass at the corner of the street, darker than the warehouses in the distance.

"Julio? Caroline?"

The silence unnerved her. She thought of going back into the club, perhaps to get more muscle, but leaving now might mean abandoning her friend to God knew what fate.

Gritting her teeth, she walked towards the black mass.

It was a lavish car, a Boattail Tourer, a modern marvel for someone who had never traveled in a Ford Phaeton, much less tried an Italian brand.

Then, quite suddenly, she felt both relief and fright when a pair of familiar hands grabbed her waist and tickled her ribs.

"Care –"

She turned around. Caroline was smiling lazily, her eye shadow slightly smudged. There was something absent about her.

"Oh, silly. You look so scared," she drawled, leaning forward.

"Are you okay? What happened -"

"You don't need to worry. Everything's _perfect_."

With that, she shoved Bonnie towards the car until the girl slipped. But instead of hitting her head against the pavement, she fell into a pair of strong arms, which caught her and pulled her inside the Tourer.

Caroline hopped in the front seat.

"You can trust them, Bonnie."

She gasped. She was staring into their eyes again, the man with the hollow smile and the blonde with a sharp appetite.

They were holding her down, their grip as strong as iron casts.

The man leaned down and dipped one finger under her bow tie. With one gentle flick, he tore it from her neck.

"I told you I would untie that pretty bow," he breathed hotly over her exposed throat.

Bonnie closed her eyes. She heard Caroline's laugh in the distance. Outside, Julio was shouting her name.

* * *

_**a little something I've been working on, hope you'll enjoy!**_


	2. My Own Desires

_Two: My Own Desires_

* * *

Grams had a saying about white men. _They__'ve__ ruled __this world__ for too long now. __They forgot they're flesh and bone. They don't wan__t to __remember they're just human. _

At the tender age of ten, Bonnie had not understood how one forgets one is mortal.

Every day, she witnessed signs of death and decrepitude all around her. Her neighborhood was a plethora of castoffs who sought refuge in extinction. Nothing was stable, nothing survived. She always clung to her grandmother's side when she passed Darla Max's house on the corner of 147's. The windows were barred and the door was locked, but you could still see some drops of blood dried up into the sinking wooden stairs of her porch. Darla had shot herself right there, one hot June evening. No one knew why. She had been cheerful the day before, talking about visiting her nephews in New Jersey.

And yet no one was surprised. Least of all Grams.

When Bonnie had asked why Darla had done this to herself, her grandmother had shrugged and smiled into her coffee mug.

"Sometimes, you just want to get out of your skin. And then you find out you can't. Some people discover this early and cope with it. Some... leave us, for better or worse."

Bonnie had been dissatisfied with this simple answer. If white men thought they were immortal and people like Darla Max _didn't_, there was something wrong with the world.

Grams had laughed.

"Good! I was hoping you'd reach that conclusion."

"And? What are we gonna do about it?" she had asked, eager to hear her grandmother's solution.

"_We_? We are going to pray to the Goddess for Darla's spirit, that's what we're gonna do."

Bonnie had turned up her nose at that. She didn't think _uwa_ Arawa, the Moon Goddess, could really help Darla now. Arawa had been a good surrogate mother so far, protecting her and her Grams from harm, giving her something to dream about, but the gods, from what Grams had told her, looked after you only if you spoke to them. How could Darla speak to them now?

"It's not enough!" Bonnie had cried.

"I know, sweetheart. I know. But someday it will feel like enough."

Bonnie had grown up with this exchange in her head. Long after she had stopped believing in Arawa, she still remembered Grams' words. Sometimes she rejected them, sometimes she accepted them. But they made everyday actions just a bit easier. They made her turn a blind eye when invisible hands pushed her off the tram car, when little white girls made fun of her hair, when bums on the street asked her what she was willing to do for a dime. They became a second skin into which she slipped without even knowing.

But tonight, as she lay on the backseat of a luxury car with a stranger's hand around her neck, the second skin vanished and she remembered with painful clarity: _They don't wan__t to__ remember they're just human. _

_Uwa_ Arawa was far away. And this white man certainly was _beyond_ human.

Bonnie shrieked when she saw the fangs hatching from his teeth. They glinted like pearls at the bottom of the ocean, tempting, but deadly.

"No!" she screamed.

But her words were swollen when he placed a cold finger on her lips.

"It won't hurt. For long."

_Lies_, she shouted in her head. She struggled underneath him hopelessly. Each attempt to free herself seemed to paralyze her more. Why was he so _strong_?

"You might even enjoy it."

_Isn't that what they all say? _she jeered angrily, but only she could hear herself.

He bent down and grazed the skin of neck. The fangs ghosted over her throat, the sensation ticklish and false. There were no preliminaries, no warning. When he ripped into her skin, he was not gentle. He was not kind.

She could _feel_ the fangs inside of her, invading the space she thought could not be invaded.

He clamped a hand over her mouth and she screamed into his palm. He tasted like salt and burnt wood.

The blood was rushing through her veins to reach his fangs. It felt as if her whole body was being emptied into his mouth; her arms, her legs, her head, her heart...He was drinking it all greedily, not leaving a single drop for her.

Yet, as more and more of her blood seemed to leave her, something else was poured back instead. A warm, golden liquid. Sweet poisonous peace.

Was this the beginning of death? A numbness that filled you up and replaced life?

Except, her muscles contracted painfully each time he sucked on her skin. How could she float away serenely and still be gripped in the throes of horror?

Her muscles clenched again.

Slowly, but surely, the pain was dispersing, fragmenting and melting. What remained was the golden liquid.

Bonnie felt a lump building up in her throat. She had to scream it out, expunge it from her being.

She moaned into his palm. The sound was wrenched out of her, yet given freely.

She could feel the roundness of his mouth on her skin, the shape of a smirk. The rugged five o'clock shadow rubbed against her collarbone, causing a strange friction. His fingers were no longer covering her mouth. But his thumb traced her lips.

Bonnie realized she was falling. She was surrendering to something traitorous. She was betraying herself, betraying the world. Moments ago, her soul had seemed whole.

Now, she moaned again.

_You might even enjoy it._

He had tricked her. He had wanted this.

Bonnie felt anger and pleasure and a building sense of shame. A heady sensation, like being drunk and reaching for the tenth glass of champagne. If she were given a choice now whether to stop or keep going -

"You might want to slow down, Nik. It's my turn to taste."

And then, Bonnie was cracked open again, sliced from within.

The tingling started in her fingers and reached out across membranes and bones to the pulsing center of her being.

The blonde was debouching on her wrist, just as she had intended.

Bonnie squirmed and gasped. The blood was conflicted. It ran chaotically between the two mouths, never resting on one. The streams created a whirl of ecstasy inside her.

They both growled into her skin, happy feeders who had found their source of subsistence.

The seductress' hand crept between her legs, caressing the thick stockings, the seducer's thumb pressed on her mouth, while his tongue ran circles in the hollow of her ear.

"Oh, Brother, do learn to share a little," the blonde groaned. "You're hoarding."

A flicker of light seemed to traverse the darkness. Bonnie remembered her hands dirty with the dust from that yellow book, that yellow book which had always terrified her. Her white-haired school teacher had read from it every day. The Old Testament spoke of incestuous hell demons who begat each other and indulged in sin. They were abominations. And they laughed as they corrupted each other.

Had these demons come to her?

Brother and sister, gorging on her cadaver.

Yet, Bonnie almost felt she was feasting too. She tilted her head back and exposed her throat even more. She stretched her hand, willing for the sister to bite harder.

She was riding on waves of pleasure that seemed to erase good and evil.

When she opened her eyes, she could see the moon through the window. It cast a long white shadow on her face.

Bonnie's free hand reached for it, trying to grasp moonlight. And for one moment, she almost felt a silky sheen slip through her fingers.

It was electric, primordial.

As she came undone into their mouths, a word chimed inside her head like Sunday church bells.

_Magic._

* * *

She had fallen asleep in an unnatural pose and was stiff and sore all around. It had happened to her before, but usually, when she opened her eyes, she would find she was lying down behind the bar, with a ragged cushion under her head and Caroline's coat over her shoulder. Her friend would always make sure she wasn't cold.

_Caroline._

Her head snapped up too quickly and consequently, she fell down on the couch again.

_Couch?_

Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, blinked her surroundings in and out of focus. A blue film covered her vision. Or perhaps it was the cerulean blue coming from the water.

The French windows in front of her opened on a terrace and a large pool. The small waves washed the room in a dreamlike haze.

_Who keeps a pool in February?_ was her first muddled thought.

A large Oriental vase dangled in her line of vision. It was shaped like an egg. Blue and green scribbles shimmered across its porcelain surface like the brush strokes of an impatient artist. It was placed on the edge of a wooden table, the legs of which reminded her of wild animals. The carvings were beastly. Something about this image made her lurch. The whole room looked like a museum. Oil paintings of static nature and wounded soldiers on the wall, boiseries whose oak boards gleamed ferociously even in daylight, snug, fetid carpets which had lain around for decades untouched and unwalked.

And in the middle of this carnival was she, a girl with dirty bare feet, sitting on a fainting couch, red and velour.

A gilt mirror, blackened by time, hung in a frame by the fireplace. She walked to it apprehensively, making sure her steps made no echo.

Bonnie was a disoriented mess. Her hair, a tangle of thorns. Her skin, yellow and sunken. Dried blood on her neck and wrist. And yet, the sight did not startle her.

_Caroline._

The name shook her mind clear. Where was Caroline? Where was her friend?

She had gone out into the night to find her...and now she was here. In this lavish, decadent room.

Bonnie never left with the men who came at El Fey. She was sure some of them lived in houses like these, where the manicured lawns and the wood panelings kept real life at bay.

She had been brought here, but for what purpose was a mystery as big as the red marks on her skin. A steady thump in her heart reminded her she should be afraid. She should be looking for Caroline.

She stepped through the French doors out on the terrace. The shock of cold made her flinch. Her feet protested against the frozen blocks of cement.

Three sunny armchairs lay by the pool, colorful towels draped over each one. In the middle of winter, someone had ordered summer.

Bonnie could only see brown lawn spreading in front of her, spotted here and there with emerging patches of grass. The world seemed round. As if the sky had fallen into the earth. To her right and left, more lawns, bigger houses.

She approached the pool warily. The water, unfrozen and unkind, winked at her.

"Caroline?"

Silence and absence. The world seemed deserted, left in wait.

"Caroline!"

Her call became a tremulous scream.

"Caroline!"

And then, she heard it. A short, compact laugh. Coming at her from afar, reaching towards her like an arrow to a target.

Before she could turn around, she was pushed inside the pool.

Bonnie fell into the water like a dead weight. The ice blue filled her nostrils, her mouth, her lungs. The sun shone over the bright surface as she sank towards the dark bottom.

_Too cold. Too cold_, her mind screamed.

She pushed the soles of her feet to the surface, but darts of ice seemed to pinch at her skin.

_Warmth, warmth, warmth..._

The water had always been an enemy, ever since she could remember. Skipping puddles in the street had always ended up in her getting home wet and miserable. She could never get the black water out of her socks.

A dark figure broke the surface in half and, already arms were reaching out to her, dragging her out.

"Gosh, I'm so sorry, Bon!"

Bonnie struggled to breathe.

"I got a little too excited about my powers. Here, let me help you out!"

She was carried out of the ice and dropped into one of the armchairs. Her teeth were chattering. She reached for one of the towels to wrap around her body.

She looked up. Milky-white legs bulged out of a purple satin robe. The girl was half-naked. Her hair, however, looked impeccable.

"C-Caroline."

Her blond friend looked worried and apologetic. "I'm such a ditz! Didn't mean to push you in like that. I just wanted to show off."

Bonnie gripped the towel harder.

Her friend would cover her when she fell asleep at the bar. Her friend always made sure she wasn't cold. Not anymore.

"Y-you're okay."

"Yeah, I'm great. Sorry again about the scare, but look! Look what I can do now!"

Bonnie blinked. She was gone.

No, not quite.

She could see a purple blur chasing around the pool. The blur reshaped itself into Caroline moments later.

"Can go faster than a roadrunner!" she yelled brightly. "And I'm strong too!"

To prove it, she lifted up one of the armchairs like it was barely a toothpick. She threw it across the pool and then ran to the other side to catch it.

Bonnie shivered from the cold and terror.

"C-Care. What happened to you?"

"What do you mean? Oh, like _how_ it happened? Remember that smoking guy from the bar? Turns out he's even more amazing than I thought. Although, don't worry, I'm still upset with him for lying. Like _really_ upset. But hey, Ma says don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

Bonnie noticed the way her friend's eyes flitted around nervously, almost as if she was looking for a means of escape. Something was not right about her harried gestures, her bubbly discomposure. It rang false.

"We should go inside. I don't feel the cold anymore, but you do," Caroline spoke more tenderly.

Bonnie wanted to run, sink back down into the waters, but like Caroline, she looked around and found no means of escape.

* * *

"Do you realize what you've _done_, Stefan? Now we have to take care of _your_ mess! You're lucky Nik can still compel her! But a baby vampire? Are you out of your wits?" Rebekah hollered, throwing the nearest object at him. It turned out to be a small statue of Venus.

Stefan dodged it easily.

"Look, if you get to keep the black girl, I can have my own toy."

Rebekah glowered. "You weren't supposed to _turn_ your toy! She drained my maid! I found a corpse in my boudoir!"

He shrugged. "It's her first day. She's learning."

"How _much_ has she learned already?"

Stefan sighed. "Look, I'm tired. Tired of chasing the living. Tired of following you two around. If I have to keep drinking borrowed blood, I might as well have a companion."

Rebekah looked crushed. _What about me? _She seemed to say. _Aren't __**I**__ your companion?_

Stefan shook his head. _You belong to Klaus. We all belong to him. _

"I wanted something just mine," he said, licking his lips. "The only thing I can have for myself is a sired."

"She's going to cost you more than serve you," she sniffed.

"What about that dark little thing? Isn't she going to cost you?" Stefan taunted, his ripper smile lying in wait like a shark.

"We're not being reckless like you. We're not keeping her," she replied resolutely.

"Really? Does _Nik_ agree?" Stefan challenged.

The hybrid was sitting with his back to them, drumming his fingers on his desk as he looked over a portfolio filled with sketches.

"Now, now children. Let's not fight. Bekah, let the fool have what he wants. He will kill her with his own hands by the end of a day. And Stefan, you had better hold your tongue about my acquisition or else I will snuff yours out."

His sister turned towards him.

"_Acquisition_? Nik, we can't -"

"Yes, I know. But the alternative is no better. We can't just let her walk away."

"I agree, her blood is magnificent, but -"

"That's not the _point, _Sister_._ She can't be compelled."

"So? If it comes to that, it's her word against ours. You think anyone will believe a colored girl?"

Klaus beat his fist on the desk, making it clatter. "You fail to grasp my meaning. She cannot be compelled, therefore she is dangerous and unpredictable. A loose cannon."

"Then why did you agree to take her and drink her blood?"

He smirked. "Precisely because she might be a loose cannon."

Rebekah reached out for his portfolio and snatched it out of his hand.

"Stop talking in riddles."

Klaus jumped up and grabbed the portfolio back, casting her a dark glare.

"She's a witch, of course."

His sister did not blink. "That skinny little thing? I doubt it. We've had witches before. This one's clearly innocent."

"Exactly. She's a witch who...does not know she's a witch. Not yet. Do you realize what this means?"

"Enlighten me."

"I can mold her to my own desires."

His voice sent a shiver down her spine. His eyes were illuminated from within. Honey and amber. She almost hated him when he did that, when he unraveled his wolf side. It was never safe to contradict him when his other nature came out. The wolf was possessive and vicious.

She stepped back and swallowed bitterly. The colored girl's blood had tasted like heaven. Her mouth still watered. She wanted to taste her again, but she wanted Nik and Stefan to be hers, too.

Rebekah looked at the fallen Venus statue.

Could she have them all?

And would her selfish, selfish brother ever share?

"We've never had an innocent," he said, eyeing the sketch of a black bird, covered in snow.

* * *

_**um, first off, I was really floored by your reviews, I didn't think I'd get so much support, thank you! I'm really happy you like it so far. I want to thank all the anonymous Guests who reviewed too. I hope you liked the second chapter. I tried to put as much thought into it as possible, and I hope it turned out all right :) I don't have a tumblr, but I saw there's a Klonnie week happening (yes, I do lurk on the tag, I have no life haha), so I'm also dedicating this chapter to that** **and to all of you who are reading.**_


	3. History Is My Witness

_Three: History Is My Witness_

* * *

Bonnie was thankful for the blankets Caroline piled on her shoulders, but she did not think it was a good idea to build a fire in the fireplace. First and foremost, this fireplace, much like the house, belonged to strangers.

Caroline, however, was in a state of frightening euphoria and hardly listened to her friend, as she dumped logs of wood in the fire box.

"Care, could you please stop? I'm warm, I really am. In fact…you should put on some clothes, so we can get out of here."

Her blonde friend seemed puzzled whenever Bonnie suggested they leave.

"But you haven't seen the other rooms! You haven't seen the ball room! Yeah, they've got a ball room! And it's no dance hall, like the one back home where they keep the tractors. It's like something outta _Thief of Bagdad_!"

"I really don't think we should see the other rooms, all right? We need to go home."

The word "home" seemed to evoke some kind of feeling in Caroline. Her eyes lingered wistfully over the mantelpiece and she almost let out a sigh of longing. The spell didn't last. Her attention was driven back to the fire box.

Bonnie could never leave without her friend. Leaving Caroline behind would be a cowardly gesture. _Girls have to stick up for other girls, no matter what_, her Grams had drilled into her head. _You can hate a girl, but you have to help her. Cuz no one else will._

It was even harder, because she loved Caroline.

She had tried using brute force; she'd put her small hands on Caroline's white shoulders and pulled her towards the paneled doors, but her friend had resisted with unshakable strength. Bonnie had seen her lift that armchair and throw it across the pool, but she had hoped that was just the aftermath of a turbulent night and that her own mind was simply fabulating. She did not want to believe the demons of hell were any realer than _uwa_ Arawa.

"At least…at least, tell me that fellow is not in the house right now," she tried a different tactic.

"What fellow?"

Bonnie tasted the name on her tongue. Stephen, was it? No, something foreign. "Stefano?"

"Oh, _Stefan_!" Caroline cried out with rapturous joy. "He's such a doll, you don't have to worry about him!"

"I'm sure he's swell," Bonnie conceded weakly, "but is he around here somewhere?"

"I don't know, he said he had to talk to Nickie someone. He said I can do _whatever_ I want in the meantime, 'cause this is his home too."

_That's what I feared_, Bonnie thought sourly.

Perhaps, if there was only one of them in the house, they could make their escape that much easier. She pressed one finger to her perforated wrists. The dry crusts of blood had been removed by the pool's water, but two jagged holes remained, pink like freshly slaughtered lamb. She could hardly suppress a shudder.

If the golden-haired man and his red-eyed sister were somewhere nearby, neither she, nor Caroline, stood a chance.

"Voila!" Caroline cried out, as two shy ember flames rose from the pile of wood in the fireplace.

"That's great, Caroline. Could you…could you show me the rest of the house? I'm all warmed up."

She hoped her friend might know the way out. If they happened upon an entrance hall, she might make a dash for it. No, she wouldn't run _out_ on Caroline. She'd rush to the nearest payphone, or try one of the neighbors.

"Are you sure? That water felt _so_ cold on your skin."

_Odd_, Bonnie thought. Caroline had jumped inside the pool for her, but her friend was still wearing the revealing dressing robe without any sign of discomfort.

"I'm sure."

"Oh, you're gonna love your bedroom!"

"My – my what?"

"Stefan said you'd get one too. Mine's on the third floor, yours is on the second. I asked if we could be roommates, but he didn't agree. Said that Nickie fellow would want you on the second floor. Isn't this _exciting_?"

Bonnie gulped down the bile that rose in her throat. Caroline was intoxicated. There was no other explanation for it. Those fiendish rascals had drugged her; they had unscrewed the bolts in her brain and poured barbiturate inside.

And then, a terrifying thought seized her. _Not barbiturate. Liquid gold. _

"Caroline, did they bite you too? Do you have any wounds?"

She left the mountain of blankets behind on the couch and rushed to inspect her friend. Bonnie surveyed the milk-white skin, a skin she sometimes envied despite her best resolutions, and tried to find similar perforations. But it was smooth as a babe's bottom.

"That's ticklish," Caroline giggled. "What are you looking for, Bon?"

"They didn't leave a mark," she muttered, dropping her hands.

What did this mean? Would her own marks disappear? Was she going to become inebriated and carefree, was she going to frolic like a nymph?

"I'm scared," she mumbled to no one in particular, because she could sense that no one in this house had ever experienced that feeling.

"Don't be!" Caroline cheered her, kissing her cheeks. "I'm so glad you're here with me. You know, the first few moments when I woke up, I felt lonely, I felt really lousy, and I couldn't even bear sunlight. But look, Stefan gave me this beautiful ring."

Bonnie felt stupid that she hadn't even noticed. There was a copper band around Caroline's ring finger. Its engravings were beautiful, but the effect was marred by a bulky yellow stone placed right in the middle. _India Yellow. They say it's the color of cow piss._

She chased these ridiculous thoughts from her head. "Please don't tell me you got engaged."

"No, silly. He said it's a ring to help me with the sunlight. It doesn't hurt anymore. It burned my skin right off! But now I'm all good. You know, I cried a lot, but he looked into my eyes and he said the burns would heal and they did! And he also told me to be happy, and I am!"

Bonnie chewed on her lip in a fit of distress. She wanted to put her arms around her friend, but the way Caroline was babbling, it was better to just let her talk.

"…and Stefan said these powers make you so strong you never die, can you believe it? But don't worry, he said you have powers too! We're _so_ lucky, Bon."

_Powers_? Bonnie took a step back in fear.

"Come on, I'll show you everything."

When Caroline seized her hand, she could do little but follow.

* * *

Most of the doors they tried were locked. Not even Caroline's newfound strength could pry them open. The good news was the owners seemed to be out. The bad news…

"Look at those giant gates! They're taller than the Woolworth Building!"

She and Caroline stood on the columned verandah and gazed at the manicured lawn in front of them. A beautiful paved driveway curled around a series of naked poplars and reached its end in the teeth of a giant metal mouth that was barred shut.

Even if they could climb up those spikes and jumped down, they would break all their bones. Well, Caroline might not…

"Care. Do you think you could break through those gates?" Might as well use her powers for good, Bonnie reasoned.

But her blonde friend gave her such a funny look. "Maybe, but Stefan said we're his and Nickie's _guests_ and it'd be really rude to break the gates."

Bonnie heaved a sigh. "You'll snap out of this soon. It can't last."

When they returned inside, Bonnie was just about ready to see that bedroom. There was no point in panicking any further. The best she could do was freshen herself up, maybe find some decent clothes and try to come up with another exit plan. She hadn't considered this before, but maybe these eccentrics were rich enough to own a telephone.

In any case, her Grams would realize soon enough that her girl was missing and…well, the cops didn't care much if a black girl vanished, but Sheila Bennett was a beloved fixture in the neighborhood. Maybe some folks would help out and come looking for her.

Caroline was delighted to show her up the stairs. "You know, I thought we'd be stuck working at El Rey forever, but destiny has other plans for us."

Bonnie shook her head. "Destiny can't be this cruel."

Her room was every bit as costly as the rest of the house. She could fit in her Grams' bedroom and kitchen _and_ bathroom all in this one upscale apartment. You never realized they made houses these big, you never realized how much space some people took. Bonnie stood in the center, marveling.

There were two other doors in the room. One opened on a second bedroom… except there was no bed; inside, there were two heavy wardrobes filled with clothes. Giant boxes were lined against the wall, each of them holding a pair of expensive shoes. Bonnie's eyes went wide.

"Caroline, we can't…"

But her friend had disappeared in a puff of smoke, it seemed, and she was all alone in this mausoleum.

Shyly, Bonnie stepped into this miraculous closet. She touched the fabrics as she went by with the tips of her fingers. Silk, velvet, taffeta, samite, satin, gossamer, tweed…

She gasped when she saw that there were even drawers full of nylon stockings, and not the cheap kind whose lines you had to draw with charcoal.

She felt like crying. She was almost hurt by this opulence. It felt like she was being robbed, like something inside of her was being replaced.

She left the closet behind and opened the second door instead. She had never seen such a pretty bathroom before. The room was tiled from floor to ceiling in a green mosaic. A clawfoot bathtub reigned supreme in the middle of this chromatic display, but it had a long hose attached to it. Bonnie had heard of these contraptions before. They were supposed to make bathing easier.

On a shelf above her head she saw a variety of soaps, most of them from France (it said _Marseille_ on the back). And then there were the towels; snowy white, baby soft to the touch. These were engraved with a large angry "M" on the hem.

_That must be the family name._

She did not want to use them. That imposing letter would be scratching against her skin. But she smelled like a hog and she really needed a bath.

When she returned to the bedroom, she was warm and clean, wrapped up in the soft towels like a swaddled baby. She was a hypocrite, perhaps, because the mysterious "M" was emblazoned on her breast and she was still breathing easy.

Her hair would probably have a lot of kinks she'd have to wrinkle out with a good brush, but that could wait. Suddenly, nothing was so very pressing. She had to go home…and retrieve Caroline…but surely…an hour or two couldn't hurt…

She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes, foolishly.

* * *

"Wake up."

Bonnie groaned into the pillow, hiding her face.

"I said wake up."

"…mmm, one more minute, Grams."

"Do I _sound_ like an elderly woman?"

Bonnie opened one bloodshot eye. The man standing by her bedside looked like her old schoolmaster. The same imperious expression, the same slightly ruffled suit. Except, Mr. Curlins wasn't white and young and…

Bonnie jumped up, unraveling the towel wrapped around her hair.

She felt clammy and cold. She looked down and realized she'd slept in the damp towels. And she was rather naked underneath them.

She put a hand to her head, where she felt the stubborn pulse of a headache. This was becoming a bad habit.

"Now. Perhaps you'd like to make yourself decent," the voice said and she felt a sudden weight in her lap. She looked down and identified a petticoat, a pair of thick stockings and a pretty blue cashmere dress.

"I…thank you, but wool makes my skin irritable."

"You are welcome to try something else, _witchling_."

Bonnie looked up slowly. It seemed slow in retrospect, because her every breath came out delayed. She remembered where she was. And she finally took a good look at the stranger that had reminded her of Mr. Curlins.

She screamed.

A bird was screeching in her ears, _White Devil! White Devil!_

It was him. Gold hair, demon smile.

Bonnie jumped up and ran across the bed, like a child at play, except her nose was filling up with water and her throat was closing up. Before she could make it to the door, he had her wrapped in his arms.

Bonnie struggled and lashed out and scratched at his arms desperately, but the only thing she accomplished was to remove the last towel from her body.

"I could very well sink my teeth into your throat and make you as pliant as a cat," he spoke into her ear, his hands holding her waist like a jeweler weighing his prize collection.

Bonnie covered herself with her arms and closed her eyes, as if that would somehow dispel her nakedness, as if that would restore her to a semblance of dignity.

"Please," she said hoarsely, "I'll wear the dress, just don't touch me–"

The golden-haired man deposited her back on the bed with little ceremony.

"Don't _insult_ me, witchling," he spoke, both amused and insulted. "I do not play with my acquisitions. And I certainly don't _need_ to."

Bonnie gripped the petticoat to shield her body. "What do you _want_ with me?"

"You're being _quite_ melodramatic. I am not here to impose myself on you."

Perhaps it was madness, more than madness, particularly after all she'd seen and done, but she was suddenly gripped with a cold fury. Darla Max hadn't died for this.

"You…you're a white man who kidnapped me, fed on my body," she said, lifting her wrists, "and now calls me his acquisition."

"And?" he echoed arrogantly.

"And that's exactly what imposing on me means! History is my witness."

The man let out a sinister bark of laughter. "_History_? And what do you know of that, witchling?"

Bonnie blushed furiously. Her feverish political pursuits had no place here. This wasn't Harlem, this house could never even conceive it. But she had to speak.

"Stop calling me that!"

He cleared his throat, eyes narrowing in all too menacing a manner. "You presume to order me."

Bonnie flinched, drawing further away from him.

She had been so stupid, talking out of hand, trying to sound her opinions. What was she even doing? She had to get out of this house, no matter the cost. And she had to take Caroline with her.

"Please, where is my friend?" she asked, lifting her chin up and trying to meet his eyes without shaking.

It was a difficult task, since those liquid orbs shifted constantly, showing either darkness or light with each step he took.

"I want to see her," she said, locking her fingers together.

"You are very demanding for someone in your position. And quite brazen too," he commented coolly. But she felt he was mocking her in some way.

"I suppose it would be dull if you were not," he added, calmly pacing the room. "But let us hope you will be more receptive once you learn to be my witch."

Bonnie choked on her breath, and what came out was an embarrassing sound of strangled laughter.

"Your _what_?"

The man was insane. Positively _mad_. She was just an exotic oddity to him. People always thought her Grams could cast spells just because she "looked" like she could.

But Bonnie remembered the fangs. The reality of their incision. She remembered his monstrous mouth, that spectral look of him towering above her as he fed. She remembered his sister, with her red hungry eyes. And…her beloved friend, Caroline, dashing across the pool, lifting impossible weights…

He was suddenly near her again, raising her chin with one terrifyingly warm finger.

"If you're going to scream again, you had better make it loud."

* * *

Stefan raised the bottle to the ceiling, and then smashed it against the mantelpiece. Glass scattered indifferently on the woven rug. He used the jagged end to cut into the throat of his victim. This one had a thick neck on him, and his girl would have a hard time piercing through the flesh.

Caroline watched from a comfortable distance.

"You'll have to learn to do this in a cleaner fashion. But he's a solid kill. Enough blood to sate you for days."

Caroline listened carefully with a simpering smile. Something was not right with the room. There was a smell almost, a smell of decay.

"Where is Bonnie?" she suddenly asked, as if someone had just shown her a funny picture of her friend.

Stefan held out the thick-set man at arm's length. His crude overalls clashed absurdly with the fin-de-siècle décor of the room. "Drink first. You're hungry."

Caroline swayed a little on the sofa. "I'm woozy. I think I need Bonnie to give me one of her aspirins."

Stefan sighed. The man's blood was falling in large drops on the expensive rug. Nik would be mad. With that in mind…

"You'll be fine if you have a drink. And your friend is probably… having a chat with my friend. You'll meet him soon enough."

"What does he want with Bonnie?" Caroline asked, feeling both immensely listless and deeply worried for her friend.

"What most men want with witches. Power. Now…how about that drink?"

Caroline felt the veins in her cheeks boiling under the skin, reaching her eyes, prickling her vision until she was about to cry. She ran to meet the man's open jugular.

* * *

_**so, I realize I'm updating more than a year later, but better late than never, right? I don't want to burden you guys with my personal problems, but I'm struggling with some things, so I wasn't in the mood/mental state to write. but thank you for your reviews and I hope you'll enjoy what I've written here! let's see if I can keep it up!**_


	4. Why Are You So Cruel?

_Four: Why Are You So Cruel?_

* * *

She had not lied earlier about the wool. It really did make her skin irritable. There was no ointment in the world to cure her itches. Bonnie slipped a hand surreptitiously behind her nape and adjusted the buttons of the blue cashmere dress.

The man called 'Nik' (_with a k, like Vik_, she reminded herself, for he had introduced himself after their altercation) had hailed her down for "supper".

"You're practically malnourished. No witch can perform good magic on an empty stomach."

She hadn't argued with that. At this point, she was far too tired, even though she had barely woken from sleep. It must be a nightmare, all of it. She was kidnapped by practisers of the occult - the crazy, blood-thirsty kind. They probably thought she was a magical 'Negro', a woman whose skin bespoke of mysterious powers.

_Ugh. _

They …they would let her go when they discovered she was disappointingly mundane, wouldn't they?

Or would they get angry with her, angry that she had led them on, angry that they had been promised a "witch" and instead got an average, unspectacular young woman.

Bonnie had felt like this before. Young men at El Fey always thought black girls would "put out" quickly if you stuck a five dollar bill in their uniform, sometimes even less. White girls usually went for twenty dollars or more, depending on the girl's "spirit" (what she was willing to do). But it wasn't worth spending a dime more for an exotic jejune that was just _waiting_ for you to save her from the drudgery of her night shift. Black girls wanted to be rescued and loved, the way you love a lame stray cat and bring it home for a day or two, then push it back on the streets.

So, of course lots of those young men got angry when Bonnie Bennett pushed back the five dollar bill in their clenched fists.

'Nik', though, he seemed to have more than clenched fists…

Bonnie stopped at the double paneled doors. She could see shapes and shadows moving through the glass mosaic. She wanted to turn back and lock herself up in her room, but the doors were flung open by a blond woman with an insouciant smile and lynx eyes.

"Why, do join us, darling," she said, pulling Bonnie's arm with considerable strength.

Bonnie seized up at the touch. This was the sister. She remembered her clearly. She remembered her snappy manner at El Fey, remembered her glacial looks, her mouth on her wrists, her tongue on her skin…

Bonnie blushed, having no idea what to say to this impressive apparition. She was beautiful and mean, in the heartless way of a Daisy Bunchanan, but where Daisy had been marked with a drop of tragedy, the blond woman dragging her forward was only marked by a magnetic, irresistible sensuality. She was wearing a red dress, but it was nothing like Bonnie had seen before. It was cut very low, both in the front and the back, and the fabric folded and glided down her legs like water. She wore long diamond earrings that almost touched her shoulders. Her grip was not kind. And her lips bore two indentations, where gleaming fangs might have rested on a different occasion, on a different night…

_Her red mouth goes well with the red dress._

Bonnie did not know where that thought came from. She tried to draw her hand away, unsuccessfully.

The dining room was magnificent. Cyril Briggs might have called it decadent and even disgusting. Another solid proof that black folks should deride the white man, instead of emulating him. She wasn't so sure. She'd dreamed of palaces as a child, she'd walked through crystal towers where sunlight shone rainbows. She'd seen those palaces crumble in the face of reality. And she'd wondered if her true self was somewhere in that ethereal world. She didn't think so. It wasn't the blinding luxury she was after. She wanted something mythical, out of time, ma…

_No. I __**don't**__ want magic. _

Two chandeliers swung from the ceiling. Bonnie noticed they were not lit electrically. There was a socket by the door, but the chandeliers were brimming with candles. The tablecloth was snow-white and the food which had been laid out meticulously looked plentiful, enough to serve her whole street perhaps. She barely had time to notice the large portraits staring down at them from the walls before she was shoved into a seat unceremoniously by the blond sister.

Nik was sitting at the front of the table, and he was speaking in hushed tones with a dashing young man Bonnie presumed to be Stefan. And next to him…

Bonnie gave a start.

"Caroline!"

She had almost not recognized her friend. The girl's careful bob had become a shock of sunset hair, as if someone had pushed Caroline's fingers inside the socket she'd seen by the door. Her make-up was also very different. There were dark smears on her eyelids, gleaming black and bronze. Her mouth was very pink and pale. She looked lovely, but frightful and quite desperate.

"Caroline, are you all right?"

Her friend looked at her faintly and smiled. "Hi, Bon. Do you want some champagne?"

"No, I don't want any –"

Caroline lunged for the bottle in the middle of the table. "Here, let me pour it for you."

It was then that Stefan and Nik stopped talking.

"Now, now, little doll, wait for the servers. You must learn better manners," her gold-haired captor spoke with disdain.

Caroline blushed deeply - which made a very strange contrast with her ghostly face - and retrieved her hand.

"She's not a little doll, stop treating her like she can't hear you," Bonnie protested, trying to move away a tray of what looked like honeyed lobsters in order to reach her friend.

"Speaking of dolls," the lynx-eyed blonde interjected with a devious smile, "I hear you are quite the number underneath those mousy clothes. Well, you ought to be. If a girl like you is not half pretty, then she doesn't have much purpose, does she?"

Bonnie opened her mouth in shock. "I don't –"

Nik made a disapproving sound from the head of the table. "I thought we agreed that we only talk nudity _after_ coffee and dessert."

Bonnie choked on her own saliva. He was making _fun_. She tried to hide her burning cheeks. He had seen her, well, almost in her birthing suit. And he had told his sister. How awful. She wanted to sink under the table.

"Don't fret, witchling," Nik assured her, inspecting a silver fork at length. "Your gamine body does not interest me. I am a man of character, in my own way."

"I'm not a witch–" Bonnie started angrily, but she was swiftly interrupted by a legion of servers in dinner suits and tails, marching behind her.

She turned in her chair, wondering where they had suddenly emerged from. They hadn't come through the double doors. The dining room was immense, indeed. Was there a secret passage in a corner somewhere? She'd read about servants' passages in great houses. Did that passage possibly lead to freedom?

She tried to catch the eye of one of the servers, but they were completely engrossed in their tasks and did not spare her a glance. They were cutting the meat, filling up the glasses, breaking the lobster shells. All in a timely fashion.

Maybe they _couldn't_ really see her. Bonnie noticed their eyes were glazed, unfocused. She wondered if they were under the same spell as Caroline.

She stretched out her hand and pulled on a server's jacket. The man wrenched his body away with a grimace.

"He must sense you're a witch," Nik commented gleefully.

Bonnie wrinkled her nose. "Have they been drugged?"

"That's one way of putting it," the blond sister replied, arching her back in the chair and lifting her flute, waiting to be served.

"You can't _force_ people to work for you," Bonnie said.

Nik cocked his head to the side. "Is there any other way?"

"Yes. There is. You can pay the workers, give them good wages, let them rest and…" she trailed off stupidly. The whole table was watching her with amusement, like she was the entertainment for the evening. Even Caroline looked embarrassed.

Here she was, sounding off her slightly socialist opinions as if she was a debutante at a society ball and she wanted to shock the rich snobs. Well, maybe she did.

"Sustenance and money. Those are the conditions you propose?" Nik inquired, almost amiably, carving into the veal with relish.

"Well…there are other ways…"

"Mm. And yet, people are _forced_ to depend on money. They are _forced_ to live on sustenance. Everything, sadly, implies a contract. So, you see, I needn't force them. They are already subjugated."

"Unlike you?" Bonnie fired back, getting hot under the collar.

"Well, yes. I am carving this meat and I will consume it simply because it suits my fancy. I don't need it to survive. I hardly need money either," he said, waving his knife around the room.

"Just because you inherited a fortune from your father –" Bonnie tried again.

His knife clattered on the porcelain plate.

"You shall not speak about my father."

Bonnie sensed she had touched a nerve. _Good_. She felt a small flame of victory. But it quickly flickered and waned when the beautiful sister put her hand on her forearm.

"Heed his words, little witch. My brother can get very nasty about family," she said, her eyes glinting with pleasure. She _wanted_ Bonnie not to heed. She wanted a scandal.

"Now, now, Rebekah. I am most patient with you, aren't I?"

"Yes…most patient," she agreed sweetly, but Bonnie could see the stymied resentment behind her smile.

"What my brother actually meant," she continued charmingly, "is that we do not need money or food because we are vampires."

Bonnie felt her stomach drop. It was not the word itself, but the devil-may-care tone of her voice. It was as if she'd called the sky blue, or the sun yellow.

"So, you see, your little Marxist notions don't apply to us. We're above it, we're not even in the same realm really," Rebekah continued gleefully.

Stefan drew his chair back peevishly and pulled Caroline up with him.

"Come, Caroline. This dinner party's turning stale."

"And why should _you_ go, Stefan?" Rebekah demanded, her voice slightly higher than before. "Have I offended you? It was not to me who turned this inbred into one of us."

Caroline chewed on her lip. She hung limply on Stefan's arm. Bonnie hated how much she did look like a doll.

"I'm not an inbred," Caroline spoke softly.

"What?" Rebekah chuckled. "She speaks?"

"I'm not an inbred. Cousin Lou was just something Ma considered on a whim… he works for a tool-and-die, you see, and he gets good money for the fixes, and he might run the place someday because the boss likes him, but we would've never married because I wanted to live in the city…and I'm not inbred! You're awful! You're awful, you're all awful! I hate everything!" she finished in a paroxysm of feeling, throwing her champagne glass in Rebekah's face.

Bonnie watched in slow-motion as the blond beauty rose from her chair, grim and terrifying in her rage.

"HOW DARE YOU?"

Stefan tried to shield her, but Rebekah was too fast. She had Caroline pinned to the floor before anyone could do or say anything.

Bonnie rose with a gasp, letting her napkin drop.

"Let her go!"

"I am going to relish killing you," Rebekah said, hand wrapped around Caroline's throat.

Stefan tried to intervene and separate them, but he was suddenly blocked by Nik, who threw him across the room with such force that the vampire did not have the strength to rise.

"Why are you doing this? Let her go, please! Stop her!" Bonnie pleaded, trying to run past Nik.

Her captor stepped in front of her.

"You can save Caroline. But only if you use magic. Otherwise, my sister will simply have to answer the insult."

Bonnie gaped. "You know I can't do that! I don't know any magic! It's not real!"

Rebekah laughed behind them. "I am going to enjoy tearing this hussy from limb to limb. And then you can finally stop thinking that the little Negro is anything but a good feed, Nik."

Bonnie felt her heart thud in her chest. She felt angry, she felt lost, she felt overwhelmed by a desire to hurt...to hurt the beautiful woman and wipe her smirk clean, replace it with a scowl of anguish.

Caroline cried out from underneath the vampire's hold. "B-Bonnie! Bon! Run! Get – get – out!"

It was _her_, it was her old friend; for once her eyes were shining truly. It was her brave Caroline, telling to her go, to leave her behind.

Bonnie cried out, "I won't leave you!"

She closed her eyes and imagined Rebekah being thrown off her friend the same way Nik had thrown Stefan across the room.

Her pulse became erratic, her breathing was cut short, she felt as if _she_ were the one being attacked, and all the energy seemed to drain from her skin. She could see it, a ball of white mist, charging towards the woman in the lurid red dress –

And then –

And then –

Darkness.

Bonnie blinked.

She blinked again. It was still dark.

She looked around disoriented. And then she felt his grip on her shoulder. Nik chuckled.

"Well. I suppose this is a start."

"Bloody hell!" Rebekah whined, beating her fist against the floor, "she really is a witch!"

What had she done? Had she saved Caroline? Had she done something heroic?

No…

It appears she had managed to extinguish all the candles from the chandelier.

Bonnie looked up at the black ceiling. Her eyes were slowly getting adjusted to the white shadows, the little whorls of light that inevitably followed complete darkness. She was used to such blackness, she had stared at it almost weekly when she'd retrieved bottles from El Fey's cellar. But this was different.

This was _her_.

_She_ had done that. She had made the fire go out.

Caroline coughed loudly as Rebekah rolled away from her prey. "I am still owed an apology, and preferably a corpse too!"

* * *

_Well. I suppose this is a start. _

Klaus drew the looping petals of an orchid on the man's back. The blood trailed down murkily, disregarding his artistic attempts.

He had kept his voice even, he'd sounded almost unimpressed. Of course, Rebekah had ruined his good manners with her screeching. But at least she would not pester him anymore about the legitimacy of his choice.

The puny little thing had extinguished his chandeliers.

He rolled Alfonso off of him. His personal valet loved being drunk from, but he always seemed to fall asleep right after. He would chide him for it later. But right now, he was in a good mood.

A very good mood indeed.

_I shall make you do wonders, witchling._

There was only one small cloud shadowing his pleasure, a twinge really. The only one who called him "Nik" was his sister, the only one he allowed. So why had he told the witch his name was Nik?

It must have been a momentary fancy.

But she had been sitting on the edge of the bed, half-naked, almost crying, and he had told her that she had better scream louder if she intended to be heard.

And she had not screamed. Bonnie had looked him square in the face and she had said, "_Why_ are you like this? Why are you so cruel?"

He had laughed in good humor. "In time, you will appreciate this cruelty."

She had shaken her head obstinately. "I've had too much of it already."

And he realized, quite suddenly, she was not talking of that moment in particular. She was talking about her life. He almost thought about her past, almost.

And then he'd said, "We haven't been properly introduced."

* * *

**_Late update, but I'm trying to take advantage of good mental vibes. Thanks a lot for your reviews, I didn't think anyone would still be reading this story, it means a lot to me!_**


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